Season Three Journal
by Kityye
Summary: A very long chapter on Sydney's captivity
1. Life

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on Lauren.  
  
Disclaimer: Still don't own them  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 3  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
10/12/03  
  
Nothing I think is right is correct and everything I think is wrong is what they tell me is right. Vaughn with Lauren is definitely a wrong in my book, but Weiss insists they're a right. Sloane is such a big wrong that I'm shocked everyone is able to work with him. I was all for letting the CIA run their tests and give me their drugs – I'm surprised they already haven't! – but Dad won't let me. Trying old techniques to follow Sark so obviously won't work, but apparently Sark doesn't remember basic procedures and Dixon was right in that case. Hell, Marshall told me the music I listened to was wrong, even though he was sweet about it, and just trying to help me.  
  
I don't feel anything when I think of Lauren. Vague curiosity. When I think of Lauren and Vaughn, then I feel jealousy. In our meeting, we argued, but I think I would have argued anyone with that viewpoint. So, inconclusive.   
  
When she came to me on the plane, with that peace offering about hate… she was right. I didn't realize that we *could* hate each other, but I understand it. And, I told her the truth – I don't hate her. I wanted to know everything about her, but I didn't hate her. I'm far more angry with Vaughn than anybody else; *HE* should have known better. I don't even hate him; I love him.   
  
I think Lauren and I are equals now. She convinced me she was okay in how she worries about him, how she trusts him around me. I think I surprised her when I blurted the truth about how I don't hate her. We have an uneasy truce, anyway.  
  
Vaughn is trying to make it easier on me. He barely touches her when she's around. The tension is always thick enough to cut away with a knife. He didn't even relax on the mission, in Moscow.  
  
I went to get us glasses of champagne, for no good reason other than semblance of normalcy. I thanked the waiter, and took the last two on the tray. Then, I looked back at Vaughn. I smiled as I remembered other times we'd gotten dressed up on missions… and then our first date, which involved nice clothing and guns… and then our first kiss amidst the ruins of SD-6… and hockey games played in heavy sweatshirts and jeans. I nearly laughed aloud at the contrast. Vaughn, meanwhile, was giving me a strange mix of looks – unsure, faintly amused, maybe a bit of drooling. He didn't know what I was thinking. Because… before my adrenaline got pumping and we were off to steal Medusa… I was preparing to let him go.  
  
We do work well together, because we forget everything except what we're doing. Well, I do, anyway. He trusts me, and I trust him. Outside, there was only the one look of relief, and then back to business.  
  
I detangled our souls. Yes, I know he'd already taken his back, but I was clinging to the shell. His wife would keep him safe through the night, now, not me. "Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow." It was normal, yet it hurt so much because with my goodnight, I meant goodbye.   
  
As I walked back to my desk, I tried not to cry. All those wrongs that are really rights aren't really rights; they are just screwed up wrongs that nobody but me seems to be able to see. But, I'm trying to adjust my position on that.  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
AN: Hint, hint: reviews are a good thing! 


	2. Vaughn

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on Vaughn.  
  
Author's note: Kind of dark, three "bad" words.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episodes 1-2  
  
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~  
  
10/9/03  
  
Okay, so I'm back a little earlier than I thought I would be. This writing stuff down really does help.  
  
I whaled on Vaughn two weeks ago… called him unfaithful, and selfish. It was rash, and yes I *had* thought through all the words and planned what order to say them in, but I hadn't actually meant to speak them aloud to him. I feel like I have an excess of fear, which I've turned into anger. My life has been hell recently, and I lost control.  
  
I still love him.  
  
It's not fair! He had TWO years to get over me! TWO YEARS! It's gratifying to know it took him a long time, but still! I've time-warped, I'm still the same person with the same emotions, and to me our last tumble was mere days ago! What am I *supposed* to do? Get over it?!  
  
I hate fighting with Vaughn. I had to apologize, which is the hardest thing I've done since I got back. I hate saying, "got back," like I was merely on vacation. I don't feel like I've gone anywhere, and it sure wasn't that island vacation Vaughn planned for us! And of course, Vaughn made me feel all sorry that I'd blown up at him, even though I tried not to show it. I just wanted to hold him, and have him hold me and promise me everything would be okay no matter what.  
  
The thing is this: I think I could still influence him. If I actually tried to seduce him, I think he'd come to me. It scares me to hold that power, precisely because that is what I want to do. But, it'd kill him, I think, to be unfaithful to his wife. He has too many morals, and in the end it'd turn him away from me if I forced him away from his wife. His morals are partly why I'm so in love with him.  
  
No, I'm not in love with him. I can't be in love with him, not like I was. I have to stop thinking like that. He's working in my office again. I have to find a way to see him without breaking into tears. Some way that does not involve acting like I'm an emotionless bitch. That doesn't help me. All my anger and fear keeps getting stored up inside, and then I lose control. It's not fun. It happened when I was rescuing the CIA agent.   
  
Idiot lackey, dying before he told me who'd had me. Maybe it was the Covenant, since that was who the lackey was working for. But, they change bosses so often… I can't know for sure. I still think it was Sloane. Bastard would do anything he could to get back at us for wrecking the SD cells.   
  
It is funny how many people at the CIA once worked for Sloane. If I didn't know us, I'd be suspicious. Me, Dixon, Marshall, Dad… enough for a conspiracy, if we were evil.  
  
Sydney's always strong, isn't she? She thinks of things before they happen, always thinking and always connecting data and always beating the odds. She has the perfect moves.  
  
Sometimes I'm tired of being Sydney. 


	3. Lauren

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on Lauren.  
  
Disclaimer: Still don't own them  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 3  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
10/12/03  
  
Nothing I think is right is correct and everything I think is wrong is what they tell me is right. Vaughn with Lauren is definitely a wrong in my book, but Weiss insists they're a right. Sloane is such a big wrong that I'm shocked everyone is able to work with him. I was all for letting the CIA run their tests and give me their drugs – I'm surprised they already haven't! – but Dad won't let me. Trying old techniques to follow Sark so obviously won't work, but apparently Sark doesn't remember basic procedures and Dixon was right in that case. Heck, Marshall told me the music I listened to was wrong, even though he was sweet about it, and just trying to help me.  
  
I don't feel anything when I think of Lauren. Vague curiosity. When I think of Lauren and Vaughn, then I feel jealousy. In our meeting, we argued, but I think I would have argued anyone with that viewpoint. So, inconclusive.   
  
When she came to me on the plane, with that peace offering about hate… she was right. I didn't realize that we *could* hate each other, but I understand it. And, I told her the truth – I don't hate her. I wanted to know everything about her, but I didn't hate her. I'm far more angry with Vaughn than anybody else; *HE* should have known better. I don't even hate him; I love him.   
  
I think Lauren and I are equals now. She convinced me she was okay in how she worries about him, how she trusts him around me. I think I surprised her when I blurted the truth about how I don't hate her. We have an uneasy truce, anyway.  
  
Vaughn is trying to make it easier on me. He barely touches her when she's around. The tension is always thick enough to cut away with a knife. He didn't even relax on the mission, in Moscow.  
  
I went to get us glasses of champagne, for no good reason other than semblance of normalcy. I thanked the waiter, and took the last two on the tray. Then, I looked back at Vaughn. I smiled as I remembered other times we'd gotten dressed up on missions… and then our first date, which involved nice clothing and guns… and then our first kiss amidst the ruins of SD-6… and hockey games played in heavy sweatshirts and jeans. I nearly laughed aloud at the contrast. Vaughn, meanwhile, was giving me a strange mix of looks – unsure, faintly amused, maybe a bit of drooling. He didn't know what I was thinking. Because… before my adrenaline got pumping and we were off to steal Medusa… I was preparing to let him go.  
  
We do work well together, because we forget everything except what we're doing. Well, I do, anyway. He trusts me, and I trust him. Outside, there was only the one look of relief, and then back to business.  
  
I detangled our souls. Yes, I know he'd already taken his back, but I was clinging to the shell, and I finally gave it away. His wife would keep him safe through the night, now, not me. I only get him on missions. "Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow." It was normal, yet it hurt so much because with my goodnight, I meant goodbye.   
  
As I walked back to my desk, I tried not to cry. All those wrongs that are really rights aren't really rights; they are just screwed up wrongs that nobody but me seems to be able to see. But, I'm trying to adjust my position on that.  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
AN: Hint, hint: reviews are a good thing! 


	4. Julia

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of Counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on Julia.  
  
AN: Three or four bad words. Sydney has a dirty mouth! I'm sorry I didn't update earlier – I tried to give you better quality to make up for its lateness.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them.  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 4  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
10/19/03  
  
"Julia. He said Julia before he died." I knew it, recognized it, wasn't surprised when the name slipped comfortably off of Simon Walker's lips right before he devoured me from the inside out. The alias sparked memory of a certain posture. Julia was dark, seductive, and deceptive. She drawled her words lazily. She was confident to the point of danger. She was a murderer. She wanted back into the game. It was like following in the trail of an evil twin. The genes are the same in me as they are in Julia; I just had to release them to act like her. I added an extra sashay in my hips as we left.  
  
The game… seven minutes for a necklace. It felt right, it felt perfect, and it felt excellent to be back. The perfect mix of danger and adrenaline and self assurance that is my high helped. Walker knew it was my strength, this breaking and entering under pressure. Cocky bastard.  
  
Too cocky. I played Simon Walker well. I didn't think of Vaughn and Weiss listening to my words from their van. They heard the double-meaning in the seductive questions I asked. Walker didn't know me long, or else he would have heard it too. Maybe he was distracted by our foreplay. His body was familiar to me. (Why did I have sex with somebody not Vaughn?! Shit, what drugs did they use on me?!)   
  
Algeria. I improvised the part about not being able to keep our hands off each other, hoping he wasn't trying to trick me. Hell, I was distracted by our foreplay or I would have read him and known he was going to pull a stunt on me. I thought he'd caught me by my words when he flipped me over and pulled out that knife. I couldn't think of a way out.  
  
Instead, he pulled out that picture of Vaughn. I told him the truth and trusted the safety net. Thank God for Marshall, who filled me in before I left, and got that record on Vaughn up fast.   
  
Sark is in on it. I can follow him and find the goods, if I have to.  
  
The job was easy. We never met anyone, beyond that first guard. Even the lock was easy… I finished with one second to spare. It was easier than the lock in SD-6, back when Dad and I were trying to rescue the place from the insane guy who cut off Sloane's finger, not that Sloane didn't deserve it.   
  
How Vaughn got himself caught, I don't know. I thought up a story to get him off, but there was no way to tell it to him, and he would have had to tell it to Walker to make it convincing. All Vaughn would have had to do was claim that the CIA stuff was stolen, or sold to him, or something. Instead of using his brain, though, all Vaughn did was beg me with puppy-dog eyes to save him.  
  
They wanted to kill Vaughn; it was easy to get Walker to let me do the job. Julia took the knife from Perez; Julia told Vaughn he never should have betrayed her. Sydney used slight-of-hand to make it a flesh wound – in the dark it was easy; Sydney left the tracing device on his clothing. Simon kicked him down the mountainside. Facing the dark, where no one could see me, I felt my eyebrows draw together in worry. I hoped that the CIA figured out my ploy and picked him up fast, so he didn't bleed to death. And then, Julia turned back to the men and got in the jeep without a backwards glance. 


	5. Happy

Author: Kityye  
  
AN: Two bad words.  
  
Summary: It was a happy episode, wasn't it?  
  
Disclaimer: I still don't own them.  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, episode 5  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
10/26/03  
  
Hmm… Vaughn is not dead or brain-damaged. Lauren is insane (the look on her face as we chased that van!), Marshall needs to get out more (but he always has needed to get out more, and he is still sweet), and Weiss imparted wisdom about guitar-playing when you can't play guitar. I haven't had such a relaxed week in forever! I mean look at all the good things that happened to me… I was only in angst for a few hours each day! Just worry about Vaughn, some worry about Sloane, and then seeing Vaughn and Lauren together in the hospital hurt. But, I can't remember the last time I had such a good week. It might have been Thanksgiving where Francie was engaged and we had dinner as a group, and Dad showed up at the end. Well, that is the other extremely happy time I remember, anyway, that doesn't directly involve Vaughn, because our first kiss was also a special moment, and then our first date… and hockey playing… and now I'm going to cry.  
  
I still love him, no matter how much I deny it to myself. I still feel pain when he's with *her*. I'm not trying to pretend he doesn't exist or that we don't have history. That would be stupid, especially when I work with his wife. She is a dare-devil, by the way. Her driving totally freaked me out, but the look on her face was one of pure exhilaration. At least I could think, but not about the road or the other cars as we flashed by with only inches to spare on either side. Instead, Walker called, which reminds me – I need to call him back, and I had a nice chat with him. I wonder why Lauren never got field rated. I guess she wasn't that bad a driver.  
  
Why we even bothered to chase Sloane, I don't know. I suppose I started it, and Lauren followed my lead. Of course, I thought they were going to shoot somebody other than Sloane, so I pulled my gun, but then they kidnapped the bastard, and I tried to stop them, I mean we were there to talk to him. Obviously I suffered from brain-damage somewhere, because normally I wouldn't have done such a thing. He is so conning us, and we're so letting him!  
  
Marshall is such a geek. I prepped him as best I could on the plane. The Texas drawl was his idea. Getting rid of his constant five o'clock shadow was mine. Even though we were on a mission, it was awesome to watch him win and win and win! I have fun on missions, but not usually that type of fun. I know why Carrie loves him so much, although he can get a little irritating after a while. He is the most innocent CIA member I know. Although, I could have killed him after he slapped my ass. I didn't mean for him to get *that* into his character! He is such a geek! I wonder what the baby will turn out to be like.  
  
It felt so right, bantering with Weiss, Lauren, and Vaughn. I've missed it; it was so much like me, Francie, and Will, before we lost our innocence. I miss Francie. I hope Will's doing all right.  
  
Julia's gone back into my mind where she came from. Soon, the CIA will bring in Walker, and we can figure her out. It'll be nice to know, for a change.  
  
I haven't been this peaceful and content in a long time. I'd almost forgotten that I could enjoy living. It's nice to know I still can.  
  
~:~:~:~  
  
AN: Do you like the rambling journal style better, or when she's focused more on exactly what happened in the epp? 


	6. Allison

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on Allison.  
  
AN: Two bad words.   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them.  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 6  
  
~ : ~ : ~  
  
11/2/03  
  
Someone, somewhere, something, had told me that Allison was dead. Hadn't they found her body? Hadn't they found *my* body? I am such an idiot! If one of us can come back from the dead, then both of us could. Knowing she's alive, though, that she still wears Francie's face…  
  
Francie, whose death was my fault. She was so happy, with her restaurant and her new life. She's only dead because a Covenant operative was sent in to kill me, damnit! If only we'd never met, but I don't think about it because I can't imagine that time of life without Francie. I think that Francie was my first true best friend. She's the first person who ever dared to get close to me, to show me how to live. Now, a murderer wears her face.  
  
How long did Dixon know before he told me? Was he waiting for me to be mentally stable? How little he knows. Dixon, I'm your best spy and an excellent actress. You don't see me at home where I rant and cry and scream to ease my pain. You didn't bug my house because Weiss is next door; he keeps an eye on me for you. I know you're waiting with mop-up and containment teams for the day I finally snap. "Poor Sydney, she never did adjust; let's get back to our interrupted lives."   
  
I ruin everyone who comes into contact with me! Danny's dead. Will's gone. Francie's dead. Vaughn is starting to give me looks like he wishes he weren't married. Dad was in jail. Mom is in hiding. Dixon's wife is dead. Emily is dead.   
  
I don't think about killing people. I don't think about the people I've shot after I shoot them. I have never planned a murder (well not that i remember). I don't keep a body count. It's a part of life. Disarm, disable. Don't get killed.   
  
Suddenly, I'm contemplating how it will feel to put bullets into Allison's head. I'm feeling the imaginary heft of the weapon, the quick motion of my finger on the trigger. I sight, I pull the trigger. I imagine the look on her face as she falls. Shock. She doesn't think she can be killed.   
  
What the hell is locked in my brain? What did I see, do? What do I know? Why am I starting to think that the "medicine" they gave Allison to turn her into a super-human is something that was also given to me? Why else would they tell her not to kill me? Wound me; I'll get better.  
  
I almost told Dixon what Dad and I were arguing about. I'm not afraid of invasive procedures, no matter what Dad says. They can't be as painful as being kept alive by the Covenant for an unknown reason that is locked in my head. Nothing can be as painful as now.  
  
I'm so tired. I'm in bed, writing, but it's not that kind of tired. I can feel this tiredness in my heart. It's like my body is starting to give up. I'm going numb from the constant bombardment of life. I'm going to make a mistake, soon. It scares me, but not enough to free me from the pain. Not enough to make a difference. 


	7. Dreams

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on those dreams.  
  
AN: Sorry for not updating. I honestly am not sure that the police were speaking Italian at the end or Latin.   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them.  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 7  
  
11/9/03  
  
Falling asleep was a mistake. I dreamed of birds and angels with wings aflutter in the dark. A stark white room had locked doors, and my voice was weak and soft. Disorientation. Rising panic. A sticky bloodstain on my paper gown. My scar was open, thin red tubing being pulled out even as everything in me screamed for my hands to stop. They kept pulling feet, yards, miles of the stuff out while my warm, red blood ran and splattered. I sobbed with fear and horror as everything pooled warmly on my feet. Part of me was calm and watching, wondering why I wasn't unconscious from blood loss, or puking up my guts. "Your guts are at your feet," I answered myself. The scent of blood was overwhelming.  
  
I'd waited so long for the dreams that I'd forgotten they would come. The first one left me hysterical, forcing me to assure myself I was still whole by touching my scar. Everything was still so real that I was sure I would never forget any details. Still, I wrote the dream down, shuddering and breathing through my mouth. How many lights there were, what the X-rays on the walls were of. Everything I could remember that might be a clue. Back under my covers, I shivered and lay awake the rest of the night.  
  
In the morning, I went back to the naval hospital, back to that doctor. I told him exactly what my problem was. He was right; I didn't understand the procedure until I saw the guy in the padded room. I was still willing to risk it until the doctor said that the guy in the padded room was considered a successful case. I want to know, but I will not exchange ignorance for insanity. There has to be another way.  
  
I fell asleep on the plane after the mission, still tired from the night before. The instant the dream went dark and birds and symbols started appearing out of the murk, I felt fear – like being on the world's tallest roller-coaster and it just reached the top of the first peak and you can anticipate your stomach flying through your mouth in mere seconds…  
  
Thank God that my cell-phone rang. I was even more thankful that Dad was on the other end with more information about my past, despite the questions it raised. A code by Mom. Was Julia in contact with her? Was Julia leaving clues that Sydney could follow? Why Rome? Why a penthouse apartment that would be hard to defend? Who else knew of this place? Why had Julia sent the information to Sloane, of all people?  
  
It was so nice to be off the plane and home. I couldn't wait to get back to my apartment and take off my shoes and put on flannel sleep pants and one large, warm sweatshirt with a hockey logo on the front. It had been Vaughn's, tucked inside a box that Dad had returned to me when I came back. It would help calm me, allow me to think.  
  
Vaughn's call inspired a new adrenaline rush. It sustained me into his car, midway through our conversation. I was mad at him; why'd he go do something stupid like help me. I'm not sure anything will be able to fix my life. Ever. I'm permanently broken, until I die. Exhaustion set in. I haven't had a rest in two weeks – straight from shooting Francie/Allison, I was catapulted into disrupting dreams and a mission with Sloane. Now this.  
  
I can't keep from quivering in front of Vaughn. I remember too clearly when he was my rock, when nothing I did could faze him. I never had to use a mask with him, before. I can't start now. I can see love in his eyes. He can't resist comforting me, but I stop him from making a worse mistake. We can't be together, not with Lauren between us. I tried to smile and be brave, for him, and left.  
  
The key opened the door. My hand found the light switch. The gentle curve of wood and the polished surface of a table were smooth under my questing fingers. I knew this place, but I didn't recognize it. The bed was like floating in mid-air. I allowed my muscles to relax, and opened my eyes at a noise. The angel and birds were there! My mind spiraled out of control, freezing my body.  
  
To calm myself, I rushed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking up, I saw the medicine cabinet. What drugs had I been on? I flipped the mirrored door open and found the pills. A prescription, three a day, to Julia Thorne. My hands shook. I put them away, intending to get out of this place of horrors until I was stronger.  
  
Then, I was laying flat on the floor, cold handcuffs on my wrists and Italian words ringing in my ears. You are under arrest. 


	8. Captivity

Author: Kityye  
  
Summary: This is more of her thoughts while the episode was on, and less of her thoughts after the episode. Anything in parentheses is Syd's thoughts, not Julia/Sydney's. This chapter is on the captivity.  
  
AN: PG-13   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own them or the plot.  
  
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 8  
  
~:~:~  
  
11/23/03  
  
Close your eyes and let me take care of you. Let me tell you what to do. Trust me. I've done this before. (when…? yes)  
  
Close your eyes so you can reorient, because walking in the dark with your eyes open is a lot harder than closing your eyes and refusing to strain to see through the dark, suffocating bag on your head. Being deprived of sight and hands is like falling – air all around and feet unsure of their next steps. The only guidance is the rough, rude hands that squeeze too hard on your biceps.   
  
Take little steps because your feet are chained together so that you cannot walk properly. Fight, because you have to show them you're not going to willingly walk wherever they want you to. They just use crushing force on your upper arms. Bruised, you are a little more docile. It was just a show anyway. Not worth it for a show.  
  
You spaced out for most of the time you were in transit, not sleeping but dreaming. Your recent time with Vaughn reminded you of your planned vacation, and you slipped into a daydream on the beach with him and a little cottage, and somehow a pair of small children ended up there – a mischievous little boy and a younger girl with long, straight brown hair and brown eyes.  
  
They take the hood off. Tantalized by light through your eyelids, you blink. Cages line the hall. They slide the cold, heavy, metal off your wrists and waist and feet. Stiffen – expect a beating. After they safely lock themselves out, retreat within yourself, back to that previous daydream, and ignore those outside your cell.  
  
Gotta keep it together, gotta keep hoping. They won't abandon you, at least Vaughn won't, and Dad won't either. You're tired and sore and slow. Think like a CIA agent, Ms. Bristow. Test your surroundings. Let the cold flow from the cement walls into your fingertips as you wander around the tiny cell, checking the window, feeling up as high as your arms can unbend, looking for weak spots. Don't expect anything, but look anyways.  
  
Speak for the first time in two days, coaxing words through a dry throat and past a swollen tongue. It hurts to talk with Campbell, the big man with a baby face and childish words. You don't recognize your voice; it is so weak and slurred.  
  
Don't they know you've been through electroshock therapy before? It was a long time ago, but it didn't break you then and it won't break you now. Still, they try. Memorize the message on the piece of paper that the good doctor thrust in front of your face. The pain is bad, but you've felt worse. Wait patiently, and it diminishes. See? You can even gasp out words for the good doctor. Julia had left a treasure trail for Sydney. Coordinates… to where? To what? Don't be angry that you hadn't thought to search the apartment yourself.  
  
You blacked out a bit, the last time. Reorient, reorient. Ooh, paperclip! The good doctor has no clue as to your capabilities, or he has too much faith in his own. Try to manipulate your hand, which feels like it belongs to someone else – try to get it. Good. Now, don't drop it. Whatever you do, don't drop it. It might save you.  
  
The cold temperature cools the sweat on your body, be thankful for Campbell's blanket offering. Listen, despite the effort it requires; this man needs a friend. Cover your mouth with you fist – stifle the involuntary noises that leak out. Ignore the random muscle spasms that shake you, they will pass. No permanent damage. Campbell's pep talk only reinforced your decision, but you cannot tell him that. Laying on your side, facing the wall, unclench your fist that didn't drop the paperclip and lightly touch the now-warm metal. It will save you, but it is so small. You are weak, but even weak, you are strong. Small and weak, together you shall free yourself. (vaughn, daddy. where are you?)  
  
The good doctor is right. In a couple of hours, you do feel human again. Rush to reach the stupid, barred doors before the guards can stop you. Silently curse your legs that can't run fast enough and your lungs that can't draw oxygen like they normally do. Even clobbered and on the ground, you still almost made it. But, more of them came, and you'd used up your reserves of energy. They beat you unconscious.  
  
Waking feels awful. Your lip is more swollen than it was. Do not touch it, though. You can sit up, which is a vast improvement over last time you were on this cot. Campbell is sweet. Don't think about the ocean, though. It reminds you too much of the vacation you were supposed to get but didn't. Vaughn, now… don't fantasize about him taking care of you when this is all over, it is wrong. But you fall into the daydream, anyways.   
  
He'd be sweet, too, and tender. He'd brush your hair out of your face for you, and tuck you into a real bed, with fat pillows and a thick comforter. Your hands and feet are cold. He would curl up beside you, if you asked, and hold your hand. You could feel his warmth behind you, instead of the cold cement wall, and relax against it, and he would hold you and whisper that you were safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to you if you fell asleep. He'd protect you from angel dreams and doctors and the past….  
  
Two guards stride purposefully towards you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Don't beat yourself up for losing control and thinking about Vaughn. This once, it's okay. Take a deep breath and prepare for the next round of torture.  
  
But, they don't come for you. They go into Campbell's cell, beat him to his knees. (oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god!) Lindsey saunters up. He's demanding his answer. (i'm going to kill you son of a bitch!) They're hurting the innocent man just to get coordinates from you, you selfish bitch. Tell them! (i can't i need them to find julia i can't) Tell them! They're not hurting you; you can take that! They're hurting (god oh)AN(god oh)INNOCENT(god oh)MAN! (i'm so scared i don't know what to do) Tell them a lie! Tell them anything! (if they find out i lied, they'll kill me) If you don't they'll kill him! They stabbed him just like you stabbed Vaughn, and you didn't try to stop that either, did you?! Traitor! (SHUT UP! I CAN'T THINK!)  
  
"They're coordinates!" They'll kill me, but I must keep Julia to myself. Dad and Vaughn are still out there. There is still hope. What numbers should I tell Lindsey? Other coordinates pop into my mind, and I say them without thinking. "North 34 degrees, 09 minutes, 55.9 seconds, west 118 degrees, 17 minutes, 15.3 seconds!"  
  
The smirk on Lindsey's face told me something was wrong. Campbell stood up. As he talked to me, I cried. I couldn't help it. I'd been so horribly deceived, had fallen so hard for the trickery. I didn't have the words to express my emotions; I didn't know what my emotions were. Pain, and rage, and fear. I clutched the cold iron bars to hold myself upright. I'd broken.   
  
No more fighting, no more shows of fighting. I lay docilely on the gurney, unresisting as they strapped be back to the doctor's device. They would have their memories; I would have my memories. Everything was sort of faded, like it was seen through a thin haze of fog. The good doctor put the mask on my face. I didn't breathe, yet. I wanted one last mental goodbye to Vaughn, to Dad. To Marshall, Dixon, Weiss, Carrie, Lauren. To Sloane.  
  
The explosion by my head made me jerk in my bonds, choking on my instinctive half-breath, squeezing my eyes shut, expecting to die. Had the procedure already taken place? I couldn't move my head, but I heard heavy thumps and thuds. Bodies falling. Men in black undid the ties holding me to the bed, and I brushed the oxygen mask off my face, thankful to fill my burning lungs with air. My hand flopped back to the side, and it brushed a long, slim piece of cold metal. Everything happened at once: I heard Dad's voice saying my name, I opened my eyes and saw the good doctor aiming a gun, and the piece of metal was in my hand and instinctively being thrown.  
  
I had adrenaline, now, to power my legs as I stumbled-ran next to my father. He kept telling me that I was okay, a comforting stream of reassurances. There was a brief and intense gun-battle, then we were outside and in a helicopter.  
  
Seeing Lauren leaning against Vaughn, with his arm around her and her clutching it closer to herself… it made me wonder if she would mind sharing his other side. But, no, she was his wife. It wouldn't be right. I told them about the coordinates. My voice sounded slightly hysterical, and my father, awkwardly, tried to calm me. He put his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. Warm, more comfortable than in the cell, and soothed by the presence of people I trusted, I fell asleep. 


End file.
